


For in my arms I hold

by heyyoureokay



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Anxiety, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Nonverbal Communication, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 17:14:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20261638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyyoureokay/pseuds/heyyoureokay
Summary: Finally she catches the words he’s speaking, a gentle stream of reassurances and grounding facts — “It’s okay, it’s just me; it’s Spencer. You’re safe. You’re at home in bed. We’re the only ones in the house. You’re not there; it’s not happening now. You were having a nightmare. You’re safe. It’s okay. It’s okay. I have you. You’re safe.”





	For in my arms I hold

**Author's Note:**

> hello it's nightmares hurt/comfort! but i get a little tired of reading hurt/comfort of panic attacks and so on where it feels like the person having the hurt has never experienced it before, and the person giving the comfort is also brand new to it. 
> 
> i can't insert myself into that! my imagination won't let me pretend i don't have language and tools and years of therapy with which to face these circumstances. and for me a truly comforting response would be someone who knows how to walk through my coping mechanisms with me.

A hand on her shoulder, gentle at first, then grasping more firmly, shaking her as she whimpers, shivers, comes to with a start.

She bites down a scream, jarred by the nightmare and the sudden proximity, and flinches away from the hand resting on her arm. Her eyes are still tight shut, entire body on alert — unraveling herself from the logic and threat of her nightmare is painstaking, and she hasn’t fully reached waking yet; isn’t yet aware of where she is and who is by her side.

As soon as she flinches the hand pulls back, and as she becomes vaguely aware of someone’s voice, low and even, although she can’t process the words. After a few moments she's able to wrench her eyes open to see Spencer’s worried face, his kind eyes fixed on her. He’s kneeling at the side of the bed, clearly trying not to crowd her, his hands palm up and deliberately in her line of sight, telegraphing nonthreatening.

Finally she catches the words he’s speaking, a gentle stream of reassurances and grounding facts — “It’s okay, it’s just me; it’s Spencer. You’re safe. You’re at home in bed. We’re the only ones in the house. It’s 2:38am on October 7th. You’re not there; it’s not happening now. You were having a nightmare. You’re safe. It’s okay. It’s okay. I have you. You’re safe.”

Reid keeps this up until something must change in her eyes, as she clicks into her own life again, the dissociation giving way, her brain finally finished catching up from the nightmare. He gives her a sad little smile, still so gentle.

“You with me?”

She nods, not trusting her voice, and shakily reaches out to him. Spencer rises from his knees to meet her immediately and she falls into his arms, and now the sobs come, and the tremors, and the dizzy hyperventilating. He strokes her hair, presses kisses to her temple, whispers kind words. _Can’t - breathe_, she signs, disjointed and frantic, her panicked, slited breathing having triggered an asthma attack. He gets her inhaler, and talks her through one breath after another, and rocks them both for a while, just sitting with her, a warm, steady presence, until the tears stop and her breathing slows.

She can feel herself shutting down, exhausted and distant. She can’t speak or meet his eyes, but she doesn’t have to. She knows he won’t push her, that she doesn’t have to work so hard to advocate for herself here, to keep herself safe. “I have you,” he had said, and it was true.

She presses her hand to his and fingerspells into it — _m-e-d-s_. Spencer nods against her hair and reaches out a long arm for the tin of rescue medication on the dresser, shakes out a pill, wraps her fingers around it. He puts a glass of water in her other hand, and helps steady her shaking enough to drink it. As she takes the medication he rubs her back in slow circles, a grounding pressure as the last of the tension leaves her and she goes loose and pliant and far away.

She leans against him and Reid orients them in bed so he can lie back down with her head against his chest, his arms protectively around her and her head slotted under his chin. _Read?_, she signs into his hand in the dark, slowly and lightly, a false tactile sign with his hand as the base of the sign instead of her own, and a print-on-palm question mark, just barely touching and unintelligible for anyone else, but they’ve been through this before, and Spencer knows what she’s asking.

He flips through his mental library of books, poetry, articles, and essays, pulls one from the shelf, and starts to recite for her, the low rumble of his voice in his chest and the soft, careful tone of his voice more a comfort than anything he could say.

_As I walked out one evening, / Walking down Bristol Street_, Reid begins, and she lets herself settle into his arms and rest at last.

**Author's Note:**

> the title and poem at the end is "As I walked out one evening," by W.H. Auden. 
> 
> the signing here is as i would use it when i'm nonverbal. it's not technically-accurate ASL, and it's dependent on coordination and language processing ability at the time. the communication methods in this fic include a little bit of ASL, tactile fingerspelling, informal AAC tactile signing, POP, facial expressions, and gestures. 
> 
> i used fingerspelling here for "meds" instead of the sign for "medication" because that sign isn't possible for me to do when i'm nonverbal.
> 
> the signing at the end is the ASL sign for "read" (https://youtu.be/QBEc0WV0HFg) done incorrectly. here the 'v' ("eyes scanning") hand has fingertips pressed into the base ("paper") hand. the 'v' hand is the reader's, and the 'paper' hand is spencer's. that's not how tactile signing works and that's not how the original sign works (the 'v' fingers don't touch) so don't try that at home, but it is an acceptable way to communicate something you've established in advance for when you're nonverbal.


End file.
